“Really? You met Fletcher then? Poor man, he is quite lost now, for I have him here with me in the woods. Nicholson brought him in the yacht. I rather suspect that the quiet Mr. Nicholson wishes to acquire this man’s services; but, thank goodness, I can always outbid him, and Fletcher is peculiarly susceptible to the charms of money.”
“Fletcher seems to be in demand, then?”
“Oh, he is most useful, but I fancy—which is a word he is very fond of—that he is very unhappy, for I have compelled him to abandon the gorgeous raiment you mentioned and dress as a northern farmer. I fear I shall need to restore his plumage, for he seems to think he has lost caste entirely. I am unable to convince him that he has gained it; but perhaps when he sees you in such raiment, and learns you were worth ten millions six months ago, he will be reconciled.”
They were walking homeward through the forest, but at this remark John stopped and said ruefully: “Look here, Miss Berrington, if you are merely taking me with you to show Fletcher how badly a man may be costumed, I shall at once return to my cabin, for I have another suit there. I think that allusion to my clothes was most unkind, just as I was trying to forget them.”
“Indeed I am going to turn you over to Fletcher, who will see that you are clothed, now that you are in your right mind. I think this is the spot where I first had the pleasure of meeting you, Mr. Steele.”
“Now, that’s another subject you are not to refer to.”
“Dear me, I must get you to write out a list of them,” and the sprightly little woman looked up at him with merriment sparkling in her fine eyes. No one would have recognised her as the Tartar who a short time before had browbeaten her servant and lashed her horse.
A cry rang out through the forest.
“They are looking for me,” she said. “Answer the call.”
John Steele lifted up his voice and gave utterance to a piercing scream that rent the silence like the soul-scattering screech of a locomotive.